Helicopter searchlights
illuminate back garden
barbecues grown cold.
Decking needs a winter coat.
Next door sycamore
launches 'copters of its own.
In the morning,
when sirens
have stopped echoing
down alleyways,
I will rake the lawn.
Young boy runs
and throws stolen gun
over garden fence.
Empty dirty water
from upended paddling pool
and retrieve football
deflating under privet.
In the avenue,
trees stand silent
but for blue and yellow
fluttering of tape criss
crossing empty road.
Warped wooden door
creaks closed
on rusty hinges
as Summer's smell
is sealed away in shed.
Pavement stained
a darker russet
than turning leaves.
Somewhere, a mother
(nature) grieves.
